


Old Scars and New Friends

by OrangeChickenPillow



Series: The Witcher - Shorts [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Dark Past, Developing Relationship, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Multi, Polyamory, Scars, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, could be romantic or platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28539681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeChickenPillow/pseuds/OrangeChickenPillow
Summary: Yennefer's past was full of pain and suffering, all of which left a lasting impression on her, both mental and physical. She carries the memories with her, along with a pair of scars on each wrist. While traveling with Geralt and Jaskier, the bard notices these scars, sparking a heartfelt discussion between the two that leads to their bonding.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: The Witcher - Shorts [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2064513
Comments: 4
Kudos: 66





	Old Scars and New Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warning: This work contains references of a past suicide attempt (Yennefer), along with descriptions and much discussion around suicide attempt scars/self-harm scars. It also contains descriptions of peoples' reactions to said self-harm scars, both positive and negative. If this is something that might trigger you, please do not read. 
> 
> If you need help, please reach out to the Crisis Text Line: https://www.crisistextline.org/
> 
> Take care, and remember you are loved <3

Yennefer wasn’t ashamed of her scars. She’d chosen to keep them, along with her eyes, because they meant something to her. They reminded her of the girl she used to be -- the girl she’d left behind. She’d kept them because she didn’t want to forget how far she’d come, nor all the things she’d experienced, both good and bad, that never would have happened if she had succeeded in ending her life that night in Aretuza. 

No, Yennefer wasn’t ashamed of her scars. She had no reason to hide them -- they were a part of who she was, a part of herself that she was proud to have overcome, so why be self-conscious?

And not many people noticed them anyway. 

At the beginning, when she’d first begun to heal, Yennefer was afraid that her scars would mark her, like a brand or disease, letting everyone know that she’d tried to take her own life. 

But the longer she’d been alive, the more she’d begun to realize that no one really cared. Now, many lifetimes later, she herself hardly thought about them. The scars, two lines across each of her slender wrists, belonged to the old Yennefer who, while still important, was in the past. 

The new Yennefer rarely thought about them, and usually only late at night, sometimes tracing her fingers along the raised lines and wondering how she’d come to be so different from the person she used to be. 

However, while most people didn’t care, there were those odd few that did. Those strangers that noticed her scars and knew what they meant. 

She’d been met with a wide variety of reactions. Sometimes people scoffed or rolled their eyes, turned up their lips as if to say “What right does someone like you have to do something like that?”

And Yennefer’s insides would burn with anger towards those people, because they didn’t know her. They couldn’t possibly know what she’d gone though -- what had earned her those horrible scars. But over time she was able to convince herself that those people didn’t matter and she moved on. 

Other times, her scars were met with pity. The softening of a face, the deepening of a frown -- sometimes even kind words, but there was always a shift in the air that came with their sympathy. 

Yennefer disliked these reactions most of all. 

She hated pity. 

She knew people were only trying to offer their kindness, but more often than not her heart grew cold towards them and their kind words, which sliced at her like a knife. Just like the others, they didn’t know her. They didn’t know what she’d gone through -- who she was because of it. She didn’t want the sympathy of strangers. 

It was different when it came from someone familiar. When people she might have called friends recognized her scars.

That was different. 

It was almost worse. 

Geralt had been the kindest to her, for the simple fact that he’d barely said anything at all. 

At first, the Witcher had been blatant and judgemental, but that was before he really knew her, and thought that she was only a spoiled sorceress who hadn’t gotten what she’d wanted. 

Then Geralt got to know her -- got to see fleeting glimpses of who she really was, and he quickly realized that this hadn’t been the case. While she never revealed all aspects of her troubled past, she shared enough to convince him that there was more depth to her then he’d initially thought. 

But even with his growing knowledge of her past, and their growing relationship, Geralt never brought the topic up again. It just wasn’t his way of doing things. He’d seen them, he’d begun to figure out the story that went along with them, and he was content just leaving them be. 

However, not everyone was like Geralt.

In fact, very few people were like him at all. 

The bard that travelled with him was as different from Geralt as the sun is from the moon. 

Yennefer wasn’t sure about the bard. She was careful around him, just like she was careful around anyone she didn’t know well. 

But travelling with someone provided many opportunities to get to know them, and Yennefer found that she was beginning to get to know the bard, though she didn’t understand him or his relationship with the Witcher. 

Jaskier liked to talk. A lot. Geralt did not, but he listened -- she could tell. Geralt was always listening to Jaskier, even if he didn’t appear to be.

Sometimes he would tilt his head, or his face would reveal a quick glimpse at his inner thoughts before going blank again. Sometimes he would sigh or grunt in response to something Jaskier said, and the bard would follow it up with a comment about his lack of conversational skills. At first these comments were directed only at the Witcher, but soon Yennefer was included as well. 

“I swear by the gods, Geralt,” the bard would say in an exasperated tone. “It is nearly impossible to have a decent conversation with you. I mean, Yennefer is more engaging, and she doesn’t even talk to me.”

And the sorceress would exhale a quiet laugh or raise an eyebrow and keep on watching them. 

She was always watching. 

Sometimes the three would fall into a comfortable silence, and then her watching really paid off. 

Jaskier liked to talk, but it was the times he was quiet that Yennefer found him the most interesting. 

The bard’s face revealed all -- there was no filter between his thoughts and his countenance; Any emotion he felt shone through his crystal blue eyes, there for anyone to see. 

This was a strange concept for Yennefer, as she had worked so hard to turn her face into a wall that blocked people from getting anywhere near what she was thinking. 

Not the bard, though.

It was in those rare moments of silence that Yennefer felt she got to know him best. 

She watched his face and all the many emotions it sang of, and she began to understand what kind of a person he was. 

He was so, unbelievably empathetic. 

She could feel it in her gut whenever he was near. Any pain, any suffering, any joy that someone felt, he felt it right along with them. When the people around him were happy, he was happy, and when there was something wrong, he could tell. 

When she was having a bad day, she would notice the bard shooting glances at her, trying -- and failing -- to hide his concern. And though he never said anything, he always made it a point to be extra chipper, extra talkative. The only way he knew to cheer people up was to just be himself. 

To Yennefer’s utter shock, it actually seemed to work. 

The bard could be annoying, but Yennefer began to see why Geralt kept him around; His good mood could be infectious. 

In retrospect, Yennefer should not have been surprised by Jaskier’s reaction to her scars.

In the end, she was taken off guard; she had long ago assumed that everyone knew about them and simply didn’t care. 

But Jaskier didn’t have a clue. 

The only times he’d ever seen her, she’d either been in long sleeves, or he’d been too busy dying of an unpleasant djinn encounter to notice. 

How had she forgotten that he didn’t know?

But she had forgotten, and therefore wasn’t prepared for the day that he noticed them. 

They’d been travelling together for a few weeks, and they were making steady progress. Gradually, they made their way out of the cold, icy regions of the Continent, and the world around them began to thaw. 

The temperature grew less bitterly cold until each day they were removing a layer of clothing. 

Finally, life began to warm up. 

They rarely stopped to stay the night in villages after Yennefer joined them, choosing instead to camp outdoors. 

Yennefer didn’t mind, as she could conjure up a luxurious tent that was far superior to any room for rent. 

Geralt didn’t mind, as he often joined her. 

Jaskier didn’t mind, as, after much moping, Yennefer conjured a small tent for him as well, which he thanked her for excessively.

They fell into a system, and it worked well for all of them. 

They spent their nights in the woods or a barren field, safe within their tents. They ate meals by the fire, and Jaskier would talk or play his lute. Sometimes he would sing. Even rarer, Geralt would tell a story, and it would put Jaskier in a good mood that lasted days. 

Yennefer also found herself engaging more -- talking occasionally, often jesting with the bard. 

She noticed that, after she’d saved him from wandering to his death in a snowstorm, Jaskier seemed to warm up to her a little more. Yennefer was shocked to find that she cared at all, but couldn’t deny that she did. She found herself relaxing a little more, which meant that her jokes were more like jokes, and less like the insults they were often disguised as. 

The turning point in their peculiar relationship came with the warm weather. 

One evening, while the boys were enjoying the lingering light and pleasant spring air, Yennefer excused herself and retreated to her tent with the intentions of taking a bath.  
Geralt and Jaskier didn’t take much note in her leaving, as she often broke away to spend some much needed alone time -- something that they both respected. 

The Witcher set about preparing their supper, and the bard lounged in the grass, strumming on his lute and peacefully content with life. 

“Ah,” he sighed. “I’ll tell you, Geralt, I’m very much liking this spring weather. I can finally feel my fingers again!”

“Yes,” Geralt said with a soft smirk. “I can tell by the constant instrumental that has been accompanying our travels as of late.”

Jaskier smiled. “Isn’t it fantastic? You know you love it.”

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed, and Jaskier returned all attention to his instrument. 

After a few minutes, Geralt stirred from his place by the fire. 

“It's nearly ready. Go get Yen, will you?”

“Hmm?” Jaskier struggled to pry his attention away from the lute. 

Then he realized what Geralt had said. 

“Wait, no -- c’mon Geralt, why can’t you go get her, she’s your--”

“Jaskier,” Geralt warned, his tone laced with impatience. 

Jaskier sighed loudly, surrendering. 

“Ugh, fine, fine. But I’m not your errand boy, Geralt, I am a free man,” he whined as he got up, sulking towards the mage’s tent. 

The bard didn’t hear Geralt’s soft chuckle as he left, nor did he feel the Witcher’s lingering gaze on his back. 

“Knock knock,” Jaskier said hesitantly as he pushed aside the flap of the tent, ducking his head to enter.

“I’m here to get you for-- oh shit,” he quickly spun around as the mage came into view.

Yennefer was naked, save for a skirt of thin silk hanging off her waist. Her long dark hair was still damp, and droplets of water dripped off the ends, falling onto the bare skin of her chest. 

“I… am… so sorry,” Jaskier said breathily, completely embarrassed, and also more than a little afraid. 

With hunched shoulders, he stood stiffly, facing the entrance of the tent. 

He heard Yennefer’s airy laugh. 

“Relax bard, I’m not going to turn you into a toad,” she said, then added, “I heard you coming,” to try and put him at ease. 

It didn’t work. 

“Uh, right, well…” he cleared his throat. 

“Geralt asked me to--”

“I’m decent, you can turn around now,” Yennefer interrupted. 

Jaskier tilted his head, letting out a shaky breath, then slowly spun around. 

The mage was facing away from him now, lacing up the back of her shirt while she gazed at her reflection in a mirror. 

Still looking at the mirror, she shifted her eyes to meet Jaskier’s through the reflection. 

“You were saying,” she asked wryly. 

Jaskier gulped, still a little uncomfortable. 

“Geralt asked me to get you -- suppers ready,” he relayed the message. 

Yennefer nodded. 

“Ok,” she said softly. 

“Almost ready, just… could you hand me that comb over there,” she asked him, gesturing to her night stand while tying a finishing knot at the small of her back. 

Jaskier’s eyes widened slightly, but he quickly nodded his head and strode over to the stand, retrieving the comb.

His eyes avoiding hers, Jaskier approached Yennefer and held it out for her to take. 

But when the mage’s fingers reached the comb, Jaskier’s whole demeanor changed. She could feel the shift travel through the comb and right into her body. 

When she tried to take it, the bard wouldn’t let go. He seemed to be frozen.

She looked up at him inquisitively and found him looking down at her arm, his brow furrowed and his mouth set in a sullen line. 

Without even thinking, Jaskier brought up his other hand, gently grabbing Yennefer’s wrist and resting it in his palm.

He looked down at the pale, raised scars that ran the length of it. His thumb twitched slightly, as if he wanted to run it along them, but stopped himself. 

“Yennefer,” he said quietly, his voice thick with pain. 

He looked up at her, and she met his gaze, unsure how he would react, and therefore unsure of how she should present herself. 

“I had no idea,” he said in a soft, husky voice. 

His grip on her wrist was gentle, just like his voice. His expression, while pained, was full of so much pure empathy that Yennefer, who usually tensed up at such a reaction, found herself thinking about telling him everything. 

She pulled her hand away, and he let her. 

Clearing her throat, she wondered why this was suddenly so strange for her. So many people had commented on her scars, and she could care less about any of them, but it felt different with Jaskier. 

“It was a long time ago,” she said, looking him square in the face. 

She turned away then, and began to brush her hair, giving her hands something to do, and tried not to look at Jaskier’s expression. His features were twisted up with pain, his large blue eyes filled with sympathy, brow creased. 

He glanced at the ground for a moment before returning to look at her. 

She shot him a hesitant glance and his eyes caught hers, his gaze holding her tight. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, and his voice was honest and genuine and kind. 

Yennefer shrugged, struggling to keep a bitter expression off her face. 

“Life is full of pain,” she said plainly. “It’s all around us -- every day. Why should mine have been any different?”

She couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice. 

Jaskier didn’t look away, but continued to gaze steadily at her. Yennefer realized he was waiting for her to go on. 

She shook her head. There was so much she wanted to say, but she couldn’t allow herself. The words were getting stuck in her throat, jumbling up in her mind; She was in dangerous territory.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” she finally said, her tone cold. 

She had wanted to talk to him. Something deep within herself was telling her to -- telling her it would be okay -- that, like Geralt, Jaskier was someone she could talk to.   
But the idea of such vulnerability scared her -- threatened her, so she reverted to her front of harshness; It was the only way she knew to protect herself. 

But Jaskier didn’t leave. He didn’t storm out or scoff at her, or even shut down, like she’d seen him do so many times before when she’d been unkind to him, though that happened less often as the weeks wore on. 

He didn’t do any of those things. 

He just kept on looking at her with his steady gaze, his ocean-blue eyes full of so much gentleness that Yennefer felt as if she was drowning in it. 

Jaskier glanced down again, only for a moment, before lifting his head, the good-heartedness still written plainly on his face. 

“You’re right,” he said softly, his tone considerate. “Maybe I don’t understand. But I do know that life can be hard. I’m sorry that yours,” he paused for a moment. “That yours was so cruel to you. But it made you strong. Anyone can see that, without even knowing you…”

He trailed off, then added, “Stronger than me, that’s for sure,” with a sigh, his eyebrows tilting upward. 

Yennefer, finding herself enigmatically relieved, let out a breathy laugh before she could stop herself. 

She looked away, shaking her head and trying to regain control of her emotions. 

With a great deal of effort that was clearly visible to the bard, who respectfully gave her time, Yennefer brought her face back to a passive expression. 

However, the feelings she had -- ones of relief and thankfulness, and the joy of being accepted, of being allowed to simply feel her emotions without someone judging them or trying to figure them out -- were not replaced with harsh indifference. 

Instead, she let them linger, and it felt like the ice between her and Jaskier had begun to melt. 

After a moment, in which Jaskier had once again looked away, letting his eyes wander about the tent, Yennefer turned back to look at him intently. 

Sheepishly, the bard looked back at her, offering a small smile. 

Yennefer smiled back, and it felt strange, but it also felt good.

Then Jaskier seemed to have an epiphany. 

He leaned back, bringing a hand up to cover his face, then sneaking a glance at her through his fingers. 

“I’ve been such an arse, haven’t I?” he asked regrettably.

Yennefer chuckled. 

“You?” she asked, somewhat surprised. “No. I’ve been the ass. I,” she hesitated for a moment, then continued on slowly. “I’m not the best with… emotions, and… shit.”

At this, Jaskier failed to contain a giggle. 

“You don’t say,” he joked good-humoredly. 

Then he leaned forward a little, tilting his head.

“So wait, does this mean perhaps you don’t hate my guts?”

Yennefer looked at him carefully, squinting her eyes. 

“No, bard, I don’t hate your guts.”

She quickly added, “That doesn’t mean we’re chums, or anything,” but it was too late: Jaskier had already relaxed, a pleased grin of victory on his face. 

“I was so sure you hated me. I mean, you were kind of an ass--”

“Alright,” Yennefer stopped him, holding up a hand. “Don’t expect that to stop simply because I’ve admitted I don’t hate you,” she said with a sly smirk playing at her lips. 

“Oh ho ho -- no, you’ve admitted it now. You like me,” he said proudly, waggling a finger at her. 

She rolled her eyes, turning back towards the mirror with a shake of her head.

“C’mon, you do,” he insisted. “I don’t blame you, I’m a charming lad.”

Yennefer snorted, but her eyes were light and playful. Without bothering to protest, she threw her comb on the bed and started towards the entrance of the tent.

Jaskier followed close behind, chatting away like they were old friends -- something, Yennefer thought, she wouldn’t mind getting used to.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Any comments/suggestions are welcome and appreciated :)   
> I'm on tumblr @orangechickenpillow if you want to stop by and say hello.


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